You're no Superhero You've fallen again
by ChimmyPopGirl
Summary: Loosely based around the 'Teach me Tonight' car accident. -Creative leeway- "Whether you're four or fourty-two. Abuse is still just that." A beat. Jess' guarded past may be connected to his present. Rating varies: Deals with physical-sexual abuse/Illness.


**Gilmore Girls - No Superhero. You've fallen again... - **

**Then - Outside Stars Hollow - 1993 **

_Hiccup_...A disquieted startle in his candid voice...An uneasiness etched in layers of fear. The emotion soundlessly and subtly subdued over time.

His breath was tiny. Iffy. Like a squeak perhaps? Miniature fingers tended to grasp curiously, at the lining of his darkened, long sleeved, sweat jacket. A navy blue. Loose fitting, yet snug enough to hold against his thin frame, his slanting shoulders. The fabric displaying a single printed 'robot' on the front, the picture made to image a saddened, disconsolate, 'Wall-E' Disney character, equally in half, given the openness to his clothing. The solitary word 'Eve' printed slightly angled from the photo itself, a question mark at the signature's end. Gaze lowered, his palm brushed along the stiff and prickly, 'once was', fuzzy material. Sluggish, lengthy, breathing picked up a beat in tempo, his chest corresponding in effectiveness with his small, semi-conscious, movements. A slight squirminess in his, wobbly, rickety, stance. Working hard to bring down the silver pieced clasp, receding it gently, the fastener caught, again, on it's own track framing. _'Humph.'…_The solemn expression rolled insecurely on his tongue, lingering there temporarily, as if his partially squeaky voice seemed to mimic at his frustration. A hindered sigh forming on his pale chapped lips. Thoughts, jumbled up, steadily progressing across his self secured mind...A fracture having yet to set in...

..._'One Misters andses Miss-es'is-sippy cup'_...he stifled a sickly cough, a minor stammer in his phrasing. A soft, gentle, flush creeping into his pallid, off colored, tone. Moving his left palm to brush against his one knee, he gave another tiny hop. Feet colliding roughly against a patterned outline, formed by the shadowed silhouette's, atop the sanitary, sterile, flooring..._'T-Twos Color ah'doughs'_...The syllables rounded in his subconscious, fleetingly replaying as if to look for any miss-correction, anything out of place...

...He coughed again...noisily...and noticeably louder...

Bobbing brusquely on the pads of his bare feet, the four year-old, assumingly, found there to be no misconception in his counting. It's how he knew his numbers to be. Misguided. Erroneous. To young to have been (or be) taught 'proper' in an apposite schooling class. Whatever 'proper' even meant...or will mean growing up in the backdrop of _'The Big Apple'_. Social division zero...

..._Dot_..._Dot_..._Dot_...His fingertips brushed up against another, inflamed, irritated, mark...

_Dot_..._Dot_..._Dot_...Another _scratchy_ attempt at picking at the circular, splotchy, sores...Nails, shortened, and chewed against (from habit), had been immensely scraped to the point that red blood tinged at his slender arms. His knees. A pasty strawberry tint to his overall ashen complexion.

_Itchy_...The word hung on the tip of his tongue, an echo throbbing in his ears...He grimaced dejectedly. A pout, doggedly, etched in his tender, crestfallen, frown..._Hurted itchy_...A sad lil' smile, not once, reaching his eyes.

..._'Beep'_..._'Beep'_..._'Beep'_...The gentle sounds emitted from the room's monitors tended to keep the area's silence at it's minimum. A disturbed quiet in it's peak. Taking a small practice jump, his feet barely even left the floor again before he found himself testing out his newfound fun, bouncing over, repeatedly, a square or two at a time. Albeit, in his case, more like one and a half tiles per tiny spring forward. His feet, miniature, sockless, always tended to land on one of those, grouted, spaces that separated a single tile from the rest.

Sticking a thumb near the bottom corner of his mouth, (A habit that his mother could have cared less about him breaking), he trembled a bit unsteady, his right foot starting to bother him a lil' after his constant fidgeting around all day. But what else was there for a four year-old to do. He already read a 'bagillion' books-Not literally of 'course-,colored outside his 'X men Wolverine' activity book lines, and gotten into the Lucky Charms cereal box, finishing the last of it. It only filled up half a bowl, and figuring his mommy would, probably be hungry when she woke up, (wherever the doctor people where hiding his mommy that was), he actually felt bad for taking it. His tummy just didn't stop making the _gurble_ noises since sometime early yesterday.

It didn't matter in the slightest to him that the, pink shirted, nurse said it was _his _cereal and that _he_ was the one who needed to eat. That his mother would be just fine. The phrase 'mother' and 'fine' used rather loosely. That his mom was being 'taken care of' and would get an 'awesome' breakfast of her own that morning. He still felt as though he needed to make it up to his mother. Out of habit...? Guilt...? Their apartment hadn't exactly been 'stocked' with food and most of the time the young child found_ himself _going without a decent meal just so that his mother could have it and get better. To not be sick all day long on the living room sofa, or in the small, cramped, bathroom throwing up after drinking. (Whenever his mother or her fiancé were to put their beer into a glass, the youngster thought it just to be outdated apple juice. The same for vodka. He had still been lil' enough to confuse that for a weird brand of water that he knew not to touch.) His mommy tended to get _'sick'_ a lot. She needed the food not him._ Didn't the grown ups here understand that._ The pink shirted nurse had been nice enough to leave him a silly _'Tony the tiger'_, glow in the dark, wrist watch next to his morning cereal. Her way of trying to get the, at first reluctant, boy to eat. Figuring a prize _always_ came with a cereal box, _even_ the one sized serving ones. The four year-old decided he just would give his mother that. What did he need a watch for. He couldn't even tell time yet. Recognizing numbers he could handle, no sweat. He _knew_ his _1 2 3's_, well at least to the number ten that was. And _A B C's_, easy._ 'It was the alphabet song after all'_, the tiny tot thought rather proudly.

Stumbling a lil' off balance, his lil' feet slipped a bit on the semi-smooth flooring. _When it first happened, it was fun 'cause he slid some before inevitably falling on his bottom, however the second time--_

"Uh-Oh somebody's still up..." A voice called out from the now partially opened doorway. --_He fell into a table, hard and painful. _"Sweetie, you have to be more careful," The young nurse replied. A delicate accent entwined in her soothing tone. Soft feminine blonde hair, the edges and bangs dyed a purplish rosy pink, lay chastely touching her uniform scrub top. An off the shoulder pony-tail that had been rather unkempt from her daily rounds of 'shadowing', changing bedpans or patents I.V lines. Simple, standard, things since she had just been starting out in the Medical field. "What are you doin' out of bed anyway...?" Her voice whispered to him.

A solemn shake of his head, the lil' kid gave a half shrug to his shoulders, peering timidly up at the older woman. Helping to scoop the boy off the floor she, playfully yet mindful of his condition, had made to set his small butt back down on the bed once more. His lowered eyes focusing, solely, intently, on the plain white sheet covers the girl had been proceeding to place over his tiny frame. The fabric brushing lightly over his, pale bruised, legs, up to the hip-lines of his waist. Securely. Snuggly. Tucked safely in. A feeling he wasn't used to. _Safe_. Tapping his palm to the top of the blanket, the small child then folded his arms across his chest. Kicking his lil' feet around until the young woman got the hint to _uncover _his legs. Peeling the sheet up a bit so it remained rolled to his ankles, the hospital worker sighed exhaustively. "You_ really _must like having room for all your lil' toesys to wiggle 'round don't you," She mumbled, her gaze traveling to his feet that now patted the bed in an up and down motion. At hearing her words the tiny boy stopped in his _'shifting'_, looking rather upset and uncomfortable. The female nurse, apologizing, mumbled a simple, abrupt, "Sorry..." beneath her breath.

"So the doctors here say you're doing really well...considering 'everything'," There was a slight pause in her talking, her nose wrinkling with a small set of sniffles. Herself, rather awkwardly, getting back to her job. "Jess," She started to say, slowly, seriously. "There are a lot of bruises covering your arms, legs," Pause. "Your back," Noticing the lil' boy motion to his right knee, left index finger just barely brushing up against a tiny red dot. The nurse shook her head innocently. "No, not your chicken pox," She corrected quietly. Moving his hand to stay back at his side, she readjusted the covers. "_Bruises_," Drawing the word out slowly, she, a saddened expression on her face, downward curve of her mouth, cautiously made to roll up part of the small boy's hospital gown sleeve. The lil' child pulling roughly away from the contact. "I'm just going to check how you're healing, okay?" She asked, waiting on a response. Permission. The young kid just sat there, untidy hair fanning out against a stark white pillow that lay propped to his back, eyes set firmly glaring at her. Moving her hand from him, she held it up, along with her other one, a bit in defense. Clearly defeated.

"Okay, still not in the talking mood. That's fine," The woman continued comfortingly. Bringing her palm to wipe the stray stands from her face, she taking a seat on the edge of his hospital bed, placed her hand then on the boy's blanket covered knee. "I know you're still pretty upset 'bout us taking you way from your mom yesterday," Her words trailed off a bit, the youngster listening but showing no interest in furthering conversation along. "I understand," She pressed. The tail-end of her sentence spoken rather sadly. "See I sorta understand the non talking thing myself.," It wasn't a lie, or some story she created from reading his file to help him feel more at ease. Taking a deep intake of breath, the nurse made to try again at talking with him. This time on a more _personal _level with the child himself. "My mama used to do real bad things to me," She just kinda, sorta, blurted out. Afraid that if she didn't force herself to say it, then she might never would. Trembling from her own anxiousness, her past, she allowed herself to further ramble. "Hittin' m-me. Calling me names that would and still do really hurt," Hearing her stumble with her sentences, the four year-old peeked up a lil' more. Seemingly tired eyes lessening there before hardened stare. His hands fidgeting with the hem of his Mickey Mouse standard Pediatrics 'gown'. He noticed the woman had started sniffling again. It reminded him intensely of something he had a habit of doing sometimes when he was upset. _Did that mean she was upset? Were their reasons for the sniffly noises the same? _He gave a lil' frown glancing up at her, seeing her mouth move once more.

Palm pressed briefly to her forehead she mumbled barely audible. "But my Daddy, he had been the worst. Came in my bedroom almost every night wantin' to attack me an' my younger sister," Her tone, mumbled, quieted, pain in her talking. Her reminisce that she had chosen to share in hopes of getting the tiny child to open up and trust that she and the doctor's _were _really only there to help. To get the sick tot all back to being better.

Healthy as a child with, undetermined at this time, CHF (Congestive Heart Failure) can be. Suspected to have been brought on from a tiny heart defect from birth. The birth 'Arrhythmia', that there _were_ hospital records of. An ECG. Chest x-rays. Results confirmed when the tiny lil' had been, awhile back, younger and was shifted from a clinic, brought in by the Uncle with a cold, to the ER when the clinic's doctor noted abnormal, congested, breathing from the very small child. Erring now on the side of caution when dealing with the Chicken Pox the lil' patient had been developing when brought in by _'other means' _hours earlier. When a neighboring babysitter, some teen girl, had found the lil' child curled up in a hallway corner. Back pressed as close to the wall as he could get, the boy shaking immensely. Himself only clad in a thin pair of blue 'Power Ranger' boxers. Smears of blood dried on his skin. His face. His chest. Bottom lip entirely puffy. Swollen. Recognizing the tiny kid as lil' Jess Mariano, but still not wanting to get involved _'involved' _the teen decided she would feel better _at least _dropping the boy off at his mother's apartment. Figuring the woman _had to be _frantic with worry over not knowing where her son had been. Albeit, that _was _her thought until she had heard the loud, abrupt, shouting going on inside his 'home' from the outside, closed, framing of his door. The noises, yells, strings of explicit curses appearing rather violent for a _'marital argument'_...? A male's voice had definitely been present, however, she hadn't been around the child enough to know his family history. His life story.

An anonymous tip and a few exhausting hours, for the state department officers, of trying to get the mother to cooperate, 'long enough', to handle anything, the small child was safely in the grasp of an inquisitive police questioning. And a very concerned hospital investigation. Though, even with everything, evidence against the mother or her fiancé' were at that time circumstantial. Not much has changed in a day's time. Not much ever changes for those _who need _and seek help the most.

A Persistent Idiopathic Fever, the ICU noted, had hit the kid late yesterday night, low grade for the time being since the doctors had managed to cool the boy down. Working their 'antibiotic' magic. The phrase _'Idiopathic' _tossed around meaning there was no real cause known for the boy's severe and sudden elevation in temperature yet. Only speculations. _Most likely _a symptom from the early stages of his Chicken Pox. Fevers were a common factor in those. Still, the nurse knew that the staff assigned to the child's case had to run some more testes before anything could be said for certain. And who was she to question which steps were right, which was the more appropriate approach to follow, she wasn't a doctor...yet. Other family members were _still _in the works of being contacted at this point. A 'Lucas Danes' the boys 'supposed' Uncle pulled up from their database listings. Area of residence not far actually. The man residing in a small, lil' too close town, centered in Connecticut. Phone calls and computer type. That she could handle. It made her feel at least somewhat useful in the situation considering her 'talks' with the boy weren't helping all that much.

The young nurse slowly wiped her eyes, unconsciously, gently, lowering her words as she continued to talk. Getting back to telling a story that hardly anyone knew. Children were the best comforts and maybe, just maybe, the tiny tot could learn to take comfort in her too. Stuttering, once again, she whispered delicately. "He-he beat me rather badly this one weekend 'cause you see my sis wasn't home from cheerleadin' practice," Seeing a brief hint of confusion in the boy's eyes, she had teasingly made to clarify. To lighten the mood. "It's a pretty silly school sport to most girls," Running a hand through his messy deep black hair, the young kid allowed the comfort, she had noticed. That was a good thing. The young woman went on to say..."Now my sis had wanted to hang out with some of 'er friends and our pa wanted to know where she was. Wanted me to tell 'im,"

A beat...

...Her voice fell quite.

"I knew if I did he would have gone after her, an' I wanted her to be kid for a lil' while longer. Have some time with er' friends," The young nurse took a moment to think. To word herself appropriately. "She was only nine. So I lied an' said that he was wrong an' that my younger sis'ter did come home. That she had been asleep in our room," Her breath, quickened, caught a bit in her throat, moister in her eyes she hadn't anticipated. The small child rubbing unconsciously at his left arm, draped gently over his thin stomach, absentmindedly, uncomfortably as she spoke. "He let the subject drop an' I thought he would go back to his own room an' pass out or somethin'," She knew all this must be exceedingly difficult for the small boy to take in, especially if what they had suspected to have happened to be true. But, she needed him also to understand that if it did, or something like it, that he wasn't alone and there were people, doctor's, family that could help. The young woman sniffled a bit before continuing. "My dad though he didn't, an' went to go 'wake up' my sis'ter an' punish 'er. So I told 'im I had been," She tried her best to phrase the next part. "'Romantically _'involved' _with_ 'this guy'_,_'_" At this she gesture lightly with air quotes.

The small child gave a weary nod, reaching up briefly to touch her fingers, the 'quote expression' shaped to him more like two pairs of bunny ears with a lil' curve. The tiny nurse laughed a bit at his innocence. A purity that hopefully no one had taken for granted. She went on casually, afraid that even a, slight, change in her tone would make him feel self conscious. To hide in himself further. Deeper. Unreachable. "That I had..." She attempted to ease herself into her words cautiously. "...Had spent the evening in bed with my pa's friend an' just left 'is place to come home," The next few words she had stated with a slender edge to her voice, her tone a bit amused. "I wanted to make my pa mad, focused on me," She explained further, moving her palm away from the small kid's untidy dark strands. "It had worked an' my dad...he came for _me_ that night. Hit _me_. Attacked_ me_," Her voice had been near inaudible by this point and the tiny child watched her. Wondering if she was okay. "Every_ hit _I took that night. I did so my sis'ter didn't have to. So if somebody hurt you..." Her eyes, a disconsolate blue, looked him over momentarily. "If you're protecting someone at your house. Like your _mama_...?" She tried to guess. To see anything that suggested a response in his features. There had been none. "You can tell us. You know that right...?" The small, tiny, boy nodded at her words.

"Al'right..." She whispered, leaning in to place a strand of his hair behind his ear. A palm, comforting, against his shoulder. Only the youngster didn't see the touch part as being anything but fearful. The child scooting back further into his pillow. His tiny figure then grabbing at her scrub fabric frantically, eyes wide in alarm. Bouncing a bit on his bottom, the four year-old gestured over to his pack of 'Crayola' crayons that lay unmoved on his nightstand.

"Okay. Okay, I can take a hint," The rather tiny nurse mumbled reaching for the cardboard box. A slight pause in her movements before she handed the boy what he had wanted. "Here," She mumbled near inaudibly. Her gaze watching him closely with interest. "Want to color a picture is that it…?" Glancing through the pages of his chart, she, almost disregarding, and nearly overlooking him entirely at first, had found the small boy sketching, agitatedly, hastily. Note pad nearly filled line to line, gap to gap, in splotchy crayon smears. Drawing implement filed down to well past it's usable limits. The young kid's fingers coated fully in the smudgy, dark blue, waxy substance. Nails immensely scraped to the point that red coated at his artwork.

Spatters of the dull crimson ran against his pale wrists and forearms as the young woman elevated the boy's hands, gently, from his 'doodles'. Her blonde, purple-pink hair falling before her eyes, blurring her gaze momentarily.

"Hey..." The hospital nurse soothed gently. "Hey..." Loosening her grasp on his arms, the small boy noticeably flinched. A hesitation clear in his lowered eyes, as he continuously and interestedly peered down at his 'picture', as if just, only now, recognizing his own 'blood stained' handiwork. "You al'right..." That had been the main thing. First check the patient. Then assess the situation further. Well, the 'official' way would be the other way around. But, she had, once again, let her emotions interfere with '_the job'_._ 'How am I ever gonna be a doc'tor if I can't do that right'. _She thought rather regrettably. Reprimanding. herself

Seeing the child nod reluctantly, signaling that he was _fine_, the tiny woman had gently taken the picture the boy had drew. The colors pressed together, untidily, difficult to make out from an adults point of view. "What is this...?" She asked, right index finger tapping to the, multi-colored, smeared paper. "A house...?" Guessing she peered over at the soundless four year-old. He shook his head continuously, holding his two hands out for her to see. His left palm held up, lowering to stop a few centimeters above his other hand. "Smaller...?" The lil' tot nodded, as the woman spoke again timidly. "Smaller..." She said, repetitively, a more assertiveness to her outspoken tone. "Like not a hou'se but an'...apart'ment!" Snapping her fingers in excitement, she finally had a way of communicating with him. "And this..." She gestured again to the drawing. "Is a man..." Going off the tot's face expressions and body language, the young Med 'trainee' continued determinedly. "And he's wearing_ a hat_...? With a letter 'D'," Struggling with her words, she sighed slowly, deeply, her moment's eager tone now almost completely crestfallen. "And he's holding a-a bat..._A baseball bat_?," The small child nodded again, his arms now stretched out in front of him, palms both grasped together. Inaudibly, he moved his hands in a side-to-side motion, pausing to glance upward at her.

"So it is a base'ball bat huh," Pulling a few tissues from the 'Kleenex box' on the nightstand, she had proceeded to dip the edges of them into an, opened, bottle of alcohol rub. "Now this may sting a lil'," As she spoke, she watched as the tiny boy moved his fingers to pull at the mattress' sheets, covering himself up hurriedly. Bringing the material to rest just under his tiny pink, stuffy, nose. "I said _a lil'_," The '_protégée' _nurse defended herself, lightly, a thin smile forming on her lips. "An' ya might wanna pick a better hide'an'spot, cause..." She playfully tugged the, clean laundry 'scented', blanket from him. "...I could see those sad puppy dog eyes of yours," Giggling a lil' louder than even she expected, she tried not to show it_ too much_, as the tiny boy let out a small,_ 'bark!…bark!'_. His hands, held close to his chest, lifted a lil' up again. Fingers curved slightly as if to resemble dog paws. "Cutest pup I've ever seen," Tapping his nose a bit, the four year-old _'growled' _softly, pretending to want to _'bite' _at the woman's hand. "Hey, now," She mumbled innocently. "Don't make me call the pound's _doctor_...?" She tried her best at a joke. "And have 'im take'a'look at'cha," Bringing the tissues to his lil' fingers, the hospital worker began to wipe the small amount of blood from his hands and nails. The child, _frustratingly_, protesting the 'stinging' alcohol wipes the entire time.

"Now back to the pic'ture," She stated, remembering the sheet that now laid, ruffled up, on the youngsters 'blanketed' lap. "Why is this man 'ere playin' baseball?" Her words were gentle, delicately spoken. "Is he a bad guy?" She asked curiously, noticing the, sloppy, details in the artwork. "Is that why this smaller boy's sad," It was more of a statement than a question. "'Cause the man 'ere," She pointed to the taller line with a circle atop it. Kinda like a lollipop figure. "Hurts the lil'er figure with the bat?" The four year-old shook his head abruptly, a tiny bob to his stance as he leaned up a bit to pinch the nurse on her left arm. "_Ow_," She mumbled, near inaudibly. Slightly confused as to why he did that. The woman _had been _about to question the child on it, when she'd seen he'd scribbled the word 'not' on the, right upper, corner of the paper. The solitary word printed messy, almost impossible to understand due to a letter being placed backwards and another a bit upside down. "Yes, it did hurt," She corrected, wanting him to know it wasn't right to put a hand, even a tiny one, on another person. The small boy shook his head again, dampened hair falling above his disconsolate eyes, the lids of which were half-closed. "What'do'ya mean it didn't hurt me?" The woman pressed, her slender accent deepening. Words. Phrases, blending almost completely together. "Oh, I see," Tapping to the drawing, the tiny tot moved his hand back at his side, the nurse seeming to understand as she continued speaking. "The man didn't hurt the lil' figure with the bat, he...?" She paused in her talking. This time needing her patient's help. His childlike guessing game. The young boy followed suit, cupping his two hands to appear like binoculars as he placed them to his face. Turning the lengths of his palms a lil' both over and around his eyes.

"Watching," The nurse snapped her thumb and index finger again. "He _watched_ the lil' kid and the bat is for..._baseball_..." Thinking briefly, the hospital nurse tried to wrap her mind around what he had been trying to _tell her_?..._Show her_...? Maybe she _was_ reading to much into this whole thing. It was just that kids sometimes expressed themselves through drawings. The feelings their too afraid, _possibly_, to say out loud. And part of her swears that was_ exactly _what her miniature patient was doing now. So heck yeah she was going to listen. "Baseball," She repeated, the single word rolling a lil' on her tongue. "The man watches baseball doesn't he?" She smiled a bit as the young child nodded reluctantly. Something still didn't make sense though. A piece didn't fit right. "Then," The woman stated soundlessly. "Then why is the smaller boy upset," She gestured lightly to the upside down half-circle on the tinier drawing's face. "Why is he holding a _camera_...?" The youngster let out a quiet whimper, attempting to curl in on himself. His frail, bruised, body laying on it's side, knees pressing closer to the front of his 'in-patient' gown. "Jess, why is the lil' boy in _your _drawing holding a camera," Words soft spoken, the nurse still maintained a seriousness to her tone. "Sweetie," The child opted to ignore her entirely, scratching defensively at his chickenpox, the red dots starting to get inflamed again. "No," The elder girl ordered, taking the child by the arm, gently, and moving it from the tiny puffy marks on his pallor skin.

"A puppet...? What...?" The nurse muttered tiredly. Restlessly. Bright blue eyes trying to make any kind of sense over the various _'doodles' _in his notebook. "A curtain maybe above it...?" Fingers pressed to the splotchy wavy red lines on the sheeted parchment, the young woman continued mumbling more to herself. Intently. As though figuring out a crossword puzzle with only a few filled in letters. More gaps than non-empty spaces. "A puppet show...?" Lowering the note pad so that it was more at the child's level, the small woman watched as the kid stared at the picture. "Please," The nurse asked, a candidness to her shaky voice.

Taking the drawing back, though this time roughly, the tiny boy merely just scribbled over the paper. The images much harder to see. Smudgy wax ran zigged-zagged almost from corner-to-corner, side-to-side, nearly filling over the sheet. "You ruin'ed your pic'ture," The woman whispered to him, sadly, dejectedly. "Why would you do that...?" Attempting to un-smear the drawing, the hospital 'trainee' brushed some loose crayon scrapings off the notebook. The small boy's breathing dropped in tempo almost rapidly, a slight whistle to his shallow, slow, breaths. His chest hurt. _Really_ hurt. An ache in his body, entirely numbing. "Hey, ya'll need to calm down now. Readin's are goin' all over the place," Gaze straying to the machines hooked, rather uncomfortably, up to the lil' toddler, made a sluggish, softer, '_beep_'...'_beep_' noise.

"Shut up! Shut up!..." Taking in a trembling breath, congestion aggravating his fragile lungs, the tiny patient tried to yell at the elder girl. His small voice slightly hoarse, a rough soreness. "Shut!...Up!" The nurse flinched a lil' at his repetitive words, an apologetic look, clear, in her eyes. She hadn't meant to upset him so much as she had. The child talking was good, _however..._

"What is going on in here?" A doctor stated rather loudly. Attention shifting from his newest patient to the nurse that had been sitting beside the lil' kid. _That wasn't..._

"I-I," She stuttered a bit, motioning with one hand to the small figure laying to the bed, sheets pulled up to his slender shivering shoulders. "He-he start'ed to get up'set," Standing up, the young woman made to straighten herself, brushing the daily 'dust' off her pink scrub top. An invisible sheen of dirt that had collected there over her hours work. "I was just checkin' on 'im an--"

"And what," The man asked, cutting her words off, abruptly, curtly. His voice curious, demanding. Tone increasingly sharp. "What? Failed to hear the monitors?" A 'ping-ging' noise being emitted from the Cardio Graph, just now, caught the younger hospital employee's full attention, 'drawing' still in hand. Walking over, briskly, to the upright bed, the taller male leaned in to further examine_ his _patient. "He's drenched in sweat," The small 'trainee' heard the elder man mumble to himself. "No fever..."

"Is he oh'kay?" The nurse questioned, her hands folded in front of her lap, palms brushing to her uniform shirt and pants.

"What are you doing here?" The doctor, a Davie Spencer, asked, his voice exhausted with her.

"What do ya'll," A beat. "You," The young woman corrected herself. "What do you mean sir. I'm here checking on the patient," She glimpsed his hardened gaze. "S'ir..." The small woman added again quickly. Nervously. A slight pause in her talking.

"I mean in general, Miss Bennet," Dr. Spencer questioned her, clearly wanting an answer. The nurse tugged, fidgeting, at the hem of her top. Fingers twisting around the _starchy_ material.

"I'm here to learn sir. From the best," Her tone was soft, quiet. Barely audible. "In hopes of becoming a full time nurse. Maybe even a doctor someday. It's my dream," She swallowed a lil', her throat falling partially dry. "To work here alongside yourself."

"To be the best, Nurse Bennet, you first have to act your best," The smaller woman nodded at his words. He went on to say. "Have you done that just now, before I walked in," Feeling rather tinier in that moment, if that were even possible, the female hospital employee shook her head.

"No sir...I didn't, but I-I'll do better you'll see," The young woman stated her tone both agreeing and defensive. She worked hard to be there. "He drew this pic'ture here," She let slip, quickly, unthinking things fully through. She could have kicked herself just then. The doctor focused his gaze back to her, half an eye still on the small child. The Bennet girl scrambled to pick up the scribbled paper from atop the sheet covers. "Here," She mumbled, shuffling over quietly in her lil' white tennis shoes, to hand him the marked up paper. "I think he's trying to tell something through drawings..." Tapping the blended in colors, she continued. "If you notice here he drew--"

"Nurse." The elder man stated simply.

"Yeah," Voice a subdued whisper, it took a full minute for the smaller girl to realize. "Oh...Right." Making to take out a tiny paired stethoscope, the nurse began making her few steps walk back over to the small patient she needed to help with. The child's heart had been still a half or so beat off normal. The doctor laid a palm against her wrist, pausing her movements.

"Don't..." The man replied, pulling her gently to the side. To where they were respecting their patients need for rest and quiet. "Just go get me Nurse Hayden..." He continued, gruffly, ordering.

"I don't," She began unsure of her own words. Of herself. "I don't understand.."

"Nurse, you're not dressed appropriately. Your actions are clearly off. I think it's better if I bench you for the rest of today." As though that were it the elder man turned from her, letting her wrist go with out so much as another word on the subject.

"That's it.." The small nurse replied, a bit taken aback by him.

"Change your clothes, then we'll talk..." He mumbled a hint of sarcasm in his self assertive tone.

"How is this inappropriate...?" Motioning to her dress attire, she asked a lil' bitter.

Stirring uncomfortably on the bed, the tiny toddler had proceeded to kick the blankets off. Suddenly beginning to feel overheated. Warm. Dr. Spencer, glancing an off look to his fellow college, had begun to bring lower a thin, slender, plastic mask. Taking the packaging wrapper off of it, he then placed the garbage aside.

"I much don't care if you get a tattoo Nurse Bennet," The male doctor muttered quickly. Nurse noticing the small child as well. Worried. Dr. Spencer went on paying the woman no mind..."However I _do_ care if you come in with them showing, it's unprofessional and makes this hospital appear sloppy," Sliding the slip covering over the youngster's mouth and nose, getting the piece securely settled, the man slowly coaxed the child into breathing more easier. "That's it lil' guy deeper breaths." The elder employee soothed. The tiny tot finding it becoming less stuffy in his chest. His lil' feet slowing it's before frantic movements.

Watching the scene play out, the young woman let out sigh of relief knowing the kid was doing a bit better, albeit guilty for pressuring the child for answers.

Glancing over her appearance, her muti-toned hair, hospital scrubs and top neat, she glared over at the taller man, feeling slightly insulted.

"Fi'ne," She mumbled, giving in.. "I have a sweat jacket in my friend's car," Turning slightly, her pony-tailed curls brushed lightly against, a palm-sized, inky butterfly on her left arm. Small, delicate, 'scripted flowers' and other 'leafy' designs sketched around it. A lil' red the only addition to the otherwise inked black image. She spun a lil' flat on the heels of her tennis shoes. "But, I'm _not _benched Dr. Spencer," Making to head out the room, the wooden door partially opened from either's walk-in, she jabbed a finger rather harshly into the elder man's coat. "Take care of 'im til' I get back."

Catching her by the wrist again, he pulled her back in his direction, momentarily. Briefly. "Let up on the attitude. Okay." Leaning a lil' he placed a quick kiss on her cheek. Her face going a vibrant shade of pink, nearly matching her hospital top. Remembering where they were she maintained her professional focus.

"Now whose the one bein' un-professional babe," She teased, clearly loving it.

"Deeply hurt, Miss..." He stated, palm touching his chest. Faking disappointment. "I am _always_ professional," he tapped her on her nose, lightly. "Now go get movin'," Watching _his girl _leave, he called curtly after her. "And..." Glancing back to the restless small boy, the hospital worker sprinted instead out into the hallway meeting up with the tattooed woman. "Find me an ETA on kid's Uncles arrival and something about his mom," The young girl nodded, listening as he added a simple..."Need somethin' to tell the tot."

"Al'right," The nurse mumbled, a tiny pout to her lips, eyes lowered a lil'. "_Still_...want me to get Nurse Hayden...?" Playing with the words, she couldn't resist the grin that played on his face.

"Na'h," The doctor paused a bit. "I'm good...Though I _could_ use a slight reassurance in my choice...Adrianna _is _sorta hot..." His fuzzy brown eyebrows gave a tiny dance, a slight, mischievous, wiggle motion up.

"Af'ter we're don'e with ou'r rounds today. We're both assigned to that small boy's 'member'." She told him,_ attempting _to get back on track. A tiny playful head tilt in her otherwise serious stance.

"How could I forget. Kid's kinda cute," A beat. "Alright tease all you want I said _kinda_," He mumbled seeing, that look, that 'caught you' smile in her eyes. "Get on that work now Gypsy..." His foot lifted a bit, tip of his shoe tappin' his girl a bit on her butt as she walked further down the corridor.

"You too softie. Back to the patient," She grinned lightly at his 'flirt'. "Oh and don't call Nurse Hayden 'hot' again or you'll _never _get another _peek'at'this_." Lowering the collar and left sleeve of her top some, she let a good amount of her back show. A delicate tan curving around more tattoos lining her sides, similar to the designs on her slender arms, around her strawberry lotion scented wrists.

'Damn...' The doctor mouthed loudly. "But I always love a peek'atch'you," He paused a lil'. "It's my _favorite_ pok'e'mon after all..."

Facing him, the young girl, let show a small shocked 'gasp', before moving to continue her walk out the building to the parking lot.

Smirking, the elder man walked briskly back to their patient's room, a slow sprint before he found himself muttering the word, '_shit_', beneath his breath.

Arriving outside the doorway, albeit a lil' tired from his short, hurried, run. He noticed the tiny four year-old, squeaky, sick, Jess sitting up in his standard hospital bed. Feet, tiny, dangling inches above the front, crying one word..."Mommy..." Tears running down the length of his ashen, pale, face. Wet droplets slipping curved to the oxygen mask over his mouth and small pink nose, dripping against his chin, coming to rest atop his child's 'Mickey Mouse' gown. Voice slightly, muffled, inaudible...

"Oh...Crap..." The elder man mumbled, shuffling quickly over to the small upset kid. Fighting with the tot to keep the mask on and, _no_, not to bite him, the doctor, _obviously_ and partially _regrettably _knew he had his work cut out for him in _a lil' angry _package. "Lydia..." He called out, waiting a moment. "I-I mean Nurse Bennet..."

Tossing the plastic piece aside, temper-tantrum like, the small child, stubbornly pouting, kicked a bit. Knees hitting against the bed's cool metal bar. Pointing at the taller person in front of him, the seemingly innocent kid, yelled out again - louder - "Mommy..."

"I swear you best not be some kind of pod kid," The Doctor gritted a bit between his teeth. "'Cause I swear when I left this room, you..." He sighed, almost dejectedly. "Were nicer...and _almost_ asleep..." A slight pout to his own voice, the hospital employee shrugged. His apparent tiredness from working almost a double shift showed in his slouching stance, only able to offer a half-roll of his shoulder. "What is it an' chicks anyway," He asked himself, the small child literally staring him down. "Just when you need them to help with stuff like this...they leave for clothes..." A self made pun, he knew it. Still...

"Cool toy car..." The taller figure stated. An attempt to get the child to trust him a lil' more...

Holding the tiny item in his palm, the small boy peered up at him. Pausing in his crying, to gently, and swiftly, move the toy from the Doctor's view, cupping a trembling hand over the miniature vehicle's entire framing...

..."Oh-kay..." The elder of the two mumbled...

**Now - Stars Hollow - 2007**

_Numb._ Quiet. Deadened. Breathing hitched in the back of her throat. Tender. Aching. A subtle sting. Soft caresses of air pricked at her senses, the cool rush momentarily stabbing at her lungs, catching her abruptly off guard. A cough, delicate, escaped from her pale, chapped, lips. A hindered sigh poised at rest. Teeth biting rather, rigidly, harshly, into the peeling pink. Slender skin latching on as she attempted to shed the pieces off, corroborating to be a not-so subtle irritation. A uncomplicated displeasure that she could, much rather, do without having. The bittersweet taste of strawberry gloss rolled in her mouth, momentarily, as her tongue brushed up against the thin coat of, fruited, moisturizer. A few before, hardly noticeable, sparkles appeared on her lips, now more visible, from the street post lamps. The dimmed illumination, shone at her, from the right-side, rear view, mirror distracted the young, chaste, teen temporarily. She, her arm outstretched, palm flatted, allowed the pad of her one thumb to just graze over the vehicle's glass, almost catching on the feather line cracks that lined against the reflective piece.

Fear slipping into her thoughts, entwined, tangled. Tousled, with the momentary gaps of fixed discomfort. Remnants of crystalline shards littered the carpeted flooring beneath her feet. Her top, navy blue, covered comparably in the minuscule fragments. Tiny cuts gazed her arms just beneath the long sleeved fabric. Thin. Threadlike. The warmth it once retained had long since been gone, a bitter cold firmly fixed in it's place. She shook lightly. Gently. An evident, imitable, chill suppressed in her spine. Displaying only in the perceptible dots, goosebumps, the rested against her trembling body, her ashen pasty skin. Hair unkempt, she made to faintly brush a stray strand that had blurred her veiled vision further. Mousy brown tresses, ruffled. Curls untidy that she would have preferred to have been neater, especially in the presence of _that boy_. The one who refused to cooperate and essentially learn something, rather than telling her to 'pick a card'. Because trust her, 'making the trick a whole lot harder', will have became the least of his problems. How difficult had she'd been as his teacher anyway...? To say the least she had proved to be able to hold her tongue, despite his immature_ 'antics'_. She was well reserved, composed, albeit she _may have _over dramatized his learning _tactics_? (A bit) When she had tossed his deck of cards late into their 'learning' session. But in her defense, _he_, he had been just _irrepressible _and unmanageable.

Jess Mariano, had been very fond of her, yes, that was apparently and_ painstakingly _obvious, but not in the _'wants to be tutored' _sort of way. He wasn't some five year-old who flunked math,_ purposely_, to have some one-on-one, alone time, with the teacher they thought _'might have been _pretty_'_...

The again this was Mariano they were talking about.

..._Huh_, maybe Jess had been _that bad_, worse perhaps, considering Rory Gilmore _was _his teacher, and he _did _like her. Didn't he? Not to mention he flunked, not one, but near all of his course subjects. Purposely? He's gone to school so few occasions, that when Luke Danes had been, heavily, 'suggested' by the attendance office, to 'check out' Stars Hollow High's open house, the male teen's teachers haven't even heard of a 'Jess Mariano'...

...Seriously...!? (Like a fricken heart attack!)

The diner owner, clearly - _clearly_ - agitated, had shown a photographed image of his young charge to the professors. Implied to have been a_ joke_... (The you've got to be kidding me right sort) ...Their replies however, _astonishingly_ to him, almost all had been a simple, standard,_ 'oh'_... _'Sullen angst kid'_? Or a rather confused shake/nod of their head. As is to humor him.

...However,_ fortunately_, for the elder man the Guidance Office had known the Mariano kid exceedingly well. From his daily detentions, (so _so _many ways to piss off the school and hallway patrols), solemn 'hate the world' attitude, and _'act' _to steal the entire school's supply of _baseballs_...? Needless to say they had the pleasure of meeting, several occasions. The baseballs, if you're curious, have been returned to the high school the very next morning, granted, having been denied of their _pristine_ condition. Where else _would they be _besides _sullen angst kid's _closet...?

The Gilmore teen found it difficult to comprehend when Luke had first come to her with his schooling _offer_...? His body language unmistakably awkward all the while he pitched his 'argument'. Jess_ was _smart enough already. Had _proved_ to be a regular 'Allen Ginsberg' in the scribbles he left scrawled in the young Gilmore's book margins. (Granted he displayed the, earnest, skills of the 'Artful Dodger' when borrowing her copy.) 'Howl, and other poems'. He's _skimmed _his own a few times. It seemed hard to imagine that, that boy couldn't comprehend the schoolwork, like most would exclaim. Taylor, undoubtedly with a bullhorn during the Town Meetings, shouting to every which person that would decide to 'hear him out'.

Gosh darn it, if Luke hadn't been such a good friend to her and her mom, Rory would have never agreed to attempt to teach _that thing_...

...A beat...

...Alright, even still, she would have _most likely _said it would have been no problem, but even so she _wasn't_ taking back the _'that thing' _comment.

...Pause...

..._Humph_, she'll apologize later! But all that was _before _she currently found herself, freezing her tiny butt off, in an automobile accident, over ice cream..._In cones_...she added in after thought.

Why had that troublesome teen, Luke Dane's nephew, stride to press himself in her everyday thoughts? To be the focal point of her interest. With his 'magic tricks' and card ruses. His, hate the world, 'bite my ass', brashness, point of view should have been that one _thing _to keep her wanting to cuddle up, virtuously, with her guy every night. (Or rather for as long as her, over protective at times, mother would permit that was.)

School came first. A Harvard, Yale, education. That came first. Her future is that teen's everything...

...So why was the very boy who could ruin all of that presently poised in her life's epicenter? Rory wasn't attracted to him. It was impossible. She_ had _a boyfriend. Dean. She liked him, perhaps could love him. He was considerate, cute, kind-hearted. Her mother _approved_...Dean, Dean was safe. But it that what she wanted. _Safe? _Yes!

Jess Mariano, was just so boy-ish! _'Agitation' in hair gel_, she thought curtly._ Still_...

"Jess," The solitary word hung listless in the night's gentle wind. A breeze untouched. Her voice cracked a bit. An dryness, evident, in her tone. _'He was with her'_. The thought struck out amidst her conscious mind. She had felt that, relatively, she had been '_okay'_, unscathed, save for a twinge in her left wrist. But had Jess been the same? Just as lucky, _fortunate_, to escape their automobile accident with a mere few cuts and scratches. A soft, gentle, pounding, played in her ears.

"Jess...?" Speech awkward, she repeated her 'friend's' name. A noticeable response being waited on by her inquiring, near inaudible, voice. She allowed a moment to pass. Eyelids shut firmly, her head rested against the seat's back, ears trained to pick up on anything. _Everything_. His distinct mockery and cynicism, no doubt trying to make light of their situation. To help ease her own disquiet._ Just, one word Mariano_, she thought persistently, stubbornly. _Just one gosh darn syllable! _She was granted none however. Taking a deep, composed, unruffled, breath, she let herself a moment to grasp just what exactly their _situation_ had been.

"Okay..." She mumbled quietly. Timidly. A naive shyness slipping to her typically more 'assertive' tone. A fear she tried to quiet. _Forty-two minutes ago, give or take, we were both safe at Luke's, 'studying'_, Rory brusquely paused mid thought. _Yeah, well, when you say studying like that_...Her mother's voice flashed in her mind. _Stop it Gilmore! _The teen snapped at herself degradedly. Coldly.

Palms clenched into a fist, a light sheen of moisture collected in between her hands lines, her stark white knuckles. Heart rate picking up a beat, her chest, fragile, breakable, corresponded in her unconscious movements. Tears slipped along her disconsolate, pallid face, her cheeks taking on a rosy pink with each droplet's decent. Impassive. Frightened. Detached. Allowing her eyes to open slightly, to some extent, she peeked around her...

...He wasn't there had been her first thought. Her only thought. His slender form, dark untidy hair, hard to miss. He was problematic, _original_, he'd often tease. 'A signature quote among a town of '_poes_'. Whatever that meant...Still it made her laugh. A delicate, feminine, giggle in her voice. A soft sad lil' smile to her strawberry glaze coated lips. Tender schoolgirl features in everyway signifying the more obvious details of a crush. This she now took notice in. _Please, god, don't let me be falling for him_. She whispered rather hurriedly in her thoughts. _For Jess Mariano_. There had been a brisk disgust to her wording. An aversion. How poetic though, two book lovers joking over a 'Poe' tease.

_Creak_...

"Jess..." Her voice squeaked a bit. A listless echo. "Jess Mariano, you answer me right this moment!" Tone harsh, the air stilled for a brief moment, fingers entangled in her brunette strands once more. An unconscious nervousness. Edginess. And yet no response came to be. A minute and a half of holding her breath, Rory Gilmore swore she was given a single, solitary, cough. Faint. Enervated. Alive.

"Jess," A beat. "Jess where are you," Making to unclasp her seat's metal buckle, her body, exhausted, tensed swiftly at the abrupt, sudden, movement. "_Ow_..." She mumbled inaudibly, soundlessly. "I swear don't do this to me...To L-Luke..." Stumbling. She corrected herself. Hurt, regret, etched in her words. Lying in her thoughts. Actively awake. Peeling back the leather car, 'safety', strap, she attempted to straighten up more. To gain a better view of where the 'whisper' had _'came from'_. If even existent at all.

"Oh my god..." The phrase left open ended...Her voice a distant resonate...

**A-N: Should I continue?...What did you think...?**

I'm a sucker for detail...well as much as I can write that is... (lol)

The Then & Now placement credited to a Fanfic I've read: 'In reverse' by 'Sodakey'. Please read theirs if you have time. =)

Read a lot of abused Jess stories, but I decided to give it a spin. The then's are flashbacks connecting to the now's - present -

Researching CHF best I can - I'm no medic, but I do I have a tendency to study medical facts. I wanted to make Jess Mariano sick with something & after watching clips of Grey's Anatomy - Papa Winchester's (Supernatural) who plays - Denny's on the show Grey's - seemed to fit.

My first Gilmore Girls Fanfic - I'm a lil' newbie at it. - Tugs nervously at jacket sleeves -


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